


breaking porcelain

by seatbeltdrivein



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seatbeltdrivein/pseuds/seatbeltdrivein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malfoy's getting married. Harry has no idea what this should mean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breaking porcelain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeathjunkE](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathjunkE/gifts).



Malfoy's head jerked back as Harry pushed in, his back hitting the wall with a solid, painful _thud_. Sweaty hands clawed at Harry's shoulders, gripping tight to the dress shirt that just barely managed to stay on his body, tugging it down his arms. "Potter— _Potter—_!"

"Shut _up_ ," Harry snarled back, thrusting in even harder, pushing Malfoy's body against the wall roughly again and— _he'll have bruises later, anyone could see them_ —again. There were tears dripping messily down Malfoy's flushed, pointed face, and Harry was certain they were real ones _this_ time.

A strangled sob, and Malfoy pushed his face into Harry's neck, his every harsh breath sending a rush of warm, moist air over Harry's skin. A muttered, broken stream of words tickled at the bottom of Harry's jaw— _oh please, oh please, anything, this_ —and he let out a low groan, fucking into Malfoy as hard he could manage, the slick heat clenching tighter, a masochistic encouragement. Face pressed into sweaty blond hair, Harry shifted his knees to hold the shaking body steady, one hand moving to grip the dripping erection pressed between them, squeezing. Malfoy let out a choked noise, biting down on Harry's shoulder to stifle his voice as his body went ramrod, shooting off between them, his bare stomach and Harry's wrinkled, mussed button down taking the brunt of it.

Harry wasn't sure—couldn't be arsed to tell, really—whether it was the feel of Malfoy clamping down around him like a painful vice or that pathetic gasping little sob that sent him over, but when he did, everything went _white_ It wouldn't have mattered even if he'd been able to keep his eyes opened because everything had faded into that blissful, simple nothing.

When Harry rejoined reality, he was on the floor, tangled in both his pants and a messy, disgruntled-looking Malfoy.

"This really needs to stop," he bit out, wincing as Harry shifted and slipped out of him. "I'm supposed to be getting married next week."

"Then stop showing up here," Harry muttered back distractedly, glazed-over eyes focused on the smattering of cum between those pale, sparsely haired thighs. Malfoy gave him an irritated look, face dusting a hard red as he closed his legs.

"I didn't come here for _this_ ," he sneered, and Harry was reminded of before, the times when fucking wasn't an option and all he wanted was to deck Malfoy and watch him bleed. "I came here to end it, and you went and _ruined_ it with your—your—" Malfoy's teeth clicked together, mouth shut.

"Who is it?"

"Who is _what_?" Malfoy sounded angry, so Harry put a hand on one of his knees, feeling the muscles tense.

"Your new wife."

"Oh." _That._ "Do you remember Daphne Greengrass? She was in Slytherin, our year."

"Her? Yeah, I think so. I thought she was married already?"

"She is." Malfoy smacked his hand away. "But her sister's not. Our parents made an arrangement."

"Mm." Harry shrugged and got to his feet, grabbing Malfoy's arm and pulling him up with him. "She nice?"

"I have no idea. We've never really met outside of contract negotiations," he said dismissively.

"Right. That sounds lovely."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Potter."

Harry ignored him, instead pointing down at his legs. "You've got a bit dripping down there, Malfoy." Watching that pale skin burn in embarrassment was almost as good as sex, really. "Let me get a towel."

"I can do it myself," Malfoy muttered, making no real move to stop him. " _Warm water_ , Potter. I'll not be freezing my bits off because you're too cheap to run it hot."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry saluted cheekily, tucking himself into his trousers as he wandered off down the hall. He let the water in the bathroom sink run warm a bit, then dunked a small wash rag in it. He should let it get cold. Malfoy was probably making a mess of his living room couch, after all. But he wouldn't. No matter the occasion, he'd become weak willed when it came to Malfoy wanting something.

He was right about the couch, though, Harry noted, walking back into the sitting room and lazily waving the dampened rag around. "Up," he said, twirling his finger and watching Malfoy scowl at the implication. "Come on, then. Up and put your hands on the back of the sofa."

Malfoy's face was red again, and Harry was hard again. He stood behind Malfoy, briefly letting his fingers dip between his cleft and press against Malfoy's softened hole, fingers briefly slipping inside before he pulled away, Malfoy's sharp exhaling breaths working their way into Harry's mind for a later, more personal use.

"Get on with it, Potter." Malfoy's voice was strained and breathy. They both knew what he was thinking, bent over the couch like that with his arse wiggling.

"Right," Harry muttered, then again: "Right." Pushing the rag between Malfoy's cheeks, he swiped it up, cleaning him out. The first time, Malfoy had put up an awful sort of fit, calling it degrading and humiliating and all sorts of things. Now he just stayed quiet and tried to hide his hard-on while Harry took care of him.

"So this is it?" Harry asked, voice forced casual. "Do I get to come to your wedding, then?"

Malfoy gave a strangled sort of whimper, and then chuckled weakly. "As if I'd let you come to my wedding, Potter." A sharp intake of breath, and then a heavy sigh as Harry tossed it to the side. "Besides, why would you want to?" _Do you really want to make things that difficult?_

"Thought it might be fun," Harry returned. _Yes, actually. I rather do._

Malfoy moved away from him, stooping to grab his clothes where they lay scattered on the floor. "Don't," he warned, eyes focused anywhere but on Harry. "I meant it. This is it. I have an obligation to my family."

Harry just shrugged. He knew all about obligations. "It couldn't matter less to me, Malfoy. You know the way out." It was a lie, he knew, but Malfoy didn't, and the hurt that flashed in his eyes—just for the briefest moment—was well worth it.

He didn't say anything more, just tugged on his clothes. Then, as he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and stepped into the fireplace, he paused. "Best find yourself another arse, Potter. Perhaps the Weaselette?" He disappeared in a flash of green flames just as a vase on the mantel exploded.

Harry didn't need Malfoy. As he picked up every breakable thing in the sitting room and chucked it at his fireplace, he was certain of this.


End file.
